


사람 to 사랑

by writeiolite



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Blindfolds, Car Sex, Choking, Creampie, Degradation, Dom/sub, F/M, Fluff, Quickies, Rough Sex, Rough handling, Sensory Deprivation, Smut, Spanking, slight degradation, thigh spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26447410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeiolite/pseuds/writeiolite
Summary: being a pro volleyball player is hard. being a pro volleyball player with a bad attitude, vulnerable reputation, and a fake relationship with his ex’s best friend is even harder. can kageyama's edges be smoothed down before the contract ends?"saram to sarang," "person to love;" stream trivia 承: love by bts
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 104
Collections: Comms





	사람 to 사랑

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted on my tumblr, writeiolite
> 
> [ ! ] if you want to use this fic in a reading video (like ASMR or smth), please dm/inbox me on tumblr or comment here and get my permission first
> 
> yes dis is a play on words (pronounced saram to sarang) and character play (ㅇ looks like ㅁ smoothed down). mayhaps my korean-speaking readers will find themes of 자랑, 바람, and 바람 c;

Meet Kageyama Tobio. Capricorn. 1996 liner. Miyagi native. Likes milk and yogurt. Youngest sibling. Close to his grandfather. Has an older sister. Has a girlfriend*.

You.

“But let me read the fine print,” she laughs out, the tears on her face (are they laughter or sadness?) practically audible as they land on her shirt and lap. “ _*Not a real relationship_.”

Her laughter goes above you in rounds of hoots and you wonder if the sheets will fly away or get soaked. Either way, you can’t let the paper with your life signed away on get damaged. And, of course, the fine print is that it’s not your _entire_ life. Why, that would be _absurd!_ It’s only 7 and a half months of your life planned out in 10.5 Helvetica Neue single-spaced pages (16 of them, to be exact). If there was any more information in there, they might as well be telling you how to wear your skin.

But that would be _morbid!_ A publicity agency telling you how to chew your food and clip your nails? No, but you should definitely choose clear acrylic with gold and blue decals floating in them — see, page 4, paragraph VI, line X.

Of all acting jobs you could have landed, you didn’t think it would be "dating" your best friend's ex-boyfriend.

Your first expectation was that he would’ve had the decency to read over the portfolio created by your acting agency. It’s a new job, so you can’t say you know the ins and out — it wasn’t even a job you expected to have — but so far things have been consistent: whoever is involved in the gig reads up to know what they’re working with.

Not Kageyama Tobio.

“I don’t like studying. I don’t see a problem with that.”

If it weren’t for the fake smiles you had learned and practiced, you might be in tears just from that line, but sheesh, it still stings a bit. At least you can see why you have this job… and why Yuna dumped him.

“That’s fine,” you start softly to appease him, “but you know, we _do_ have to do this for nearly 8 months. We have to do it right too.”

Or else you won’t get paid as much as you want and the tabloids will be all over him while the girls flee from him. Honestly, you don’t see how having a girlfriend is supposed to make him more popular with women, but the “logic” is that _older_ women and men don’t like a rowdy, unruly professional volleyball player with a shitty dating history. And since they’re the ones with the fat wallets, they’re the ones buying tickets for their little kids and grandkids to go to games. It’s such a roundabout process. Yuna — through her weeping laughs — suggested you just dump him at Cesar Millan’s, but she’d feel bad for the other dogs who _actually_ listen.

Whatever the hell Kageyama — or should you start calling him Tobio? — did to her you don’t want to find out.

“You’re being paid to date me, right?” He stares right into you across the tiny, overpriced cafe table. “And paid to live with me in a couple of months. And come to my games. And sleep with me.”

Your face burns a little warmer than the coffee.

“Your name’s Hannah, if I remember correctly, so listen close, Hannah. We can ‘do it right’ two months from now. But until then, I’m busy. Sorry if I ruined the coffee date they set up, but I’m in a really bad mood right now and you’re getting on my nerves.”

You float off for a moment with the last of his words barely tethering you down. He’s already gone, his back retreating and getting smaller out the sparkling window and leaving you with a shadow constricting your heart. You can’t tell what’s worse: him reading the document just enough to take advantage of the insecurities written there or the chance that he didn’t read it at all and he’s just _that_ incompatible with you.

There’s a boulder in your stomach when you think about how long these 7 and a half months are going to be, but if you follow his example then it’s technically only 2 months…

**_“Kageyama Tobio Caught Ditching His New Date?”_ **

Nothing is ever that easy, is it? That little headline showed up in your newsfeed not even 6 hours later, the two of you visible in that shiny window in the first picture, and then your empty expression all alone in the next. Poor, poor girl, the reporter wrote, left by the broken player of girls and volleyball alike. Woe is you! It’s not your fault he’s got an air of mystery and dominance every woman wants to get close to — that’s just part of his deadly, heartbreaking charms. You’ll probably never do that again, they’re sure of it!

“We’re sticking to the itinerary.”

Kageyama, who was unreadable beside you, glares at your agency manager. Even in the early morning light gracefully kissing his features he looks like he could kill. “Why? It’s clearly not gonna work.”

“Watch your tone with me,” your manager snaps back. “That attitude is why you’re in this mess in the first place.”

“Well, keep out of my mess.”

The smallest groan, one you tried to hold back to save face, leaves you. _He throws tantrums like a child._

“Kageyama, do you like long games?”

 _And here comes the metaphors…_ There’s not a clock easily in sight, but this is definitely the time for you to zone out and let your manager drone on.

“Because think of this like a long game with long sets. It’s going to be even longer and tiresome if you don’t play well.”

“Meaning?” he grits out.

“The sooner you two get through this-” the thick stack of papers is tapped on the desk “-whole thing, then the sooner you two can part ways. I don’t know about you, but Hannah and I don’t have time to go through 7 and a half months like your publicity agent wants. So make this convincing enough in 3 so we can get her booked with another gig.”

As rigid as he once — as he always was in the past… 72 hours you’ve known him — Kageyama surprisingly goes slack. It’s obvious that his guard is still up like a lion drinking water, but this new proposal seems to be exactly what was needed to make him take the stick out of his ass.

“Sure, that works with me.” It’s bland, but at least it’s not hostile. “C’mon.” Still not hostile, but he definitely needs some work.

“Where?” You look up at him while you stand. Is your manager seriously pushing for this? Not to be a stickler for the rules, but you’re pretty sure the contract was clear about the time frame for this job… you didn’t find any workable loopholes… Apprehension is starting to wiggle up your throat and press against the inside of your cheek.

“I’m bringing you to my condo. You can grab a duffle bag from your place if you want to stay the night.” With little to no tact, he takes your hand like he owns it, swiping it up almost greedily at the same time that he looks like he suffering from third-degree burns. “We have to make this convincing, don’t we?”

As if _that_ answers the quizzical and distrusting expression on your face.

“Good luck!” Your manager looks all too pleased as you’re dragged out of the office, just following your “boyfriend” like it’s another line on a script. Line III of the 10th page, probably.

“Are you seriously going to go through with this?” _This_ being the probable illegal proceedings about to follow.

“Yeah.”

“…Ok.”

The silence is a bit too heavy for your liking, but you don’t let it go to waste. You would love to get away with an express route out, so your best bet would be to go along with this too, right? Jeez, it couldn’t get any more awkward than his harsh hold on your hand and the way his fingers twitch impatiently in the elevator. Does he have to hold your hand when no one is watching too?

Taunting the two of you, the elevator doors slide open with a cheery ding, prompting you with an escape from the box while you remain trapped within 3 feet of the too tall, too angry volleyball player. Even with his good looks — he’s always been handsome during games or in Instagram photos, it’s unfair — it’s all marred by his grimacing and obvious distaste. He treats you like medicine while you both walk through the underground parking lot to your respective cars.

“I’ll send you the address.” Two tablespoons in, and then a sour expression as they’re forced down. “Don’t pack too much. You’re just visiting for now.”

 _What kind of tsundere…_ “Yeah, no worries,” you simply answer. He’s really not worth the fight, but he better be worth the paycheck and extra lines on your résumé.

Just as promised, you get a text while you buckle up in your own car, opening it up as he pulls out of his parking spot. It’s dumb, but you feel a little irritated at his sudden decision to cooperate… if you can even call it that. You’ll definitely have to set some boundaries with him when you get to his place. Even though you’re paid to pretend things are okay, that doesn’t make it _comfortable_. And considering the weird connection you have with him… Does he remember meeting you two years ago when he and Yuna first started dating? Maybe that’s why he’s so rigid. It’s awkward enough having to fake date a stranger, but it’s more awkward knowing that she’s your ex’s best friend. And while Yuna swore to you she didn’t care, you still feel guilty. Words of reassurance like “It’s part of being a rising actress” did help just a little but still…

Thinking about some impending doom doesn’t do you much good, especially with the door to Hell now waiting in front of you. The detour to your own apartment for an overnight bag was short-lived and occupied by your thoughts — it was easy to avoid the anxieties bubbling up in your stomach now that you’re _actually_ here in front of his condo. One ring of his doorbell, a deep breath of the autumn air, and a shuffle on the other side of the door before you’re let in. It’s all mechanical and robotic, each move trained and, on his part, stiff.

That won’t do.

“Let’s talk about some things first,” you start, toeing your shoes off as Kage-… _Tobio_ closes the door.

“Okay.” His hands are shoved into his pockets, athletic joggers tied tight above his hips and blank t-shirt loose.

“I don’t think rushing things is the best idea, but since I’m already here, I just want to suggest that you’re a bit more… gentle?” That’s the best word you can think of even though it’s not the best word for the circumstances, evident by his blank stare and narrow eyes. “I mean, this _is_ happening because you’re supposed to look like you’ve softened up and stuff. So I just think it’d be more compelling if you aren’t as brash as you were in my manager’s office.”

_That’s good enough, right? No toes stepped on or boundaries crossed?_

“Okay.”

…

“‘Okay?’”

“What? I’m agreeing with you.”

…

 _Okay. Just… don’t let it get to you. He’s socially inept or something but that’s_ fine _, I can work with that._ “Great! So do I get a tour?” You try to liven things up with a smile, still holding your bag over your shoulder even though it aches.

“Sure,” is all he says, but it’s accompanied by him stepping away and gesturing for you to follow.

 _At least it’s something_.

“Kitchen is over here, bar, trash, plates, silverware, living room…” he drones on and on, pointing as he goes with the enthusiasm of a sedated sloth. Any less and he’d probably be dead, you’re sure of it, but you bob your head and hum along to let him know you’re listening anyway. “And here’s the guest room.”

Scooting past him, your arms brushing together with a warm buzz in the small doorframe, you set your bag down on the floor and quickly force yourself to ignore how _plain_ it is in here. It’s not like you plan on staying here too long anyway, so there’s no use in complaining about how it’s almost _clinical_.

No use at all…!

“You can get settled in, I guess…” Standing with his back fairly slouched, the awkwardness lingers even if it isn’t visible. “We can order something for delivery later.”

He’s quick to part ways with those words, going further down the hall to where you can only assume is his room. While you appreciate him giving you some space, you don’t exactly need to get “settled in” with a bag packed for three or four days.

You still take the opportunity with full stride, following along with the itinerary and posting some aimless mirror selfie on your Instagram story. Might as well start planting the seeds that you live here… There was some line that the more you post of your “happy life” the better the bonus at the end of this…

“What are you doing?”

You jump out of your skin, face heating up at lightning speed and phone slammed facedown on the counter with practically all suspicion in the world possible. It’s not like you were doing anything _bad_ , but jeez… Now it’s your turn to feel awkward (again).

“N-nothing,” you breathe (barely).

“I was calling your name. Do you want sushi?”

“Sure.” And then he’s gone again.

It takes nearly a month, but you start getting used to being around him (and you hope the feeling is mutual). You’d stay over at his condo for a few nights and then stay at your apartment for a few nights. The press ate it up, especially when you two went on dates.

**_“Kageyama Tobio: Does He Have a New Pancake?”_ **

“Why am I being called a pancake?”

Tobio looks up from his phone as he passes by, stopping to read the article title over your shoulder. “…Because they think that once I’m done with one side, I flip girls around and then toss them out.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“It’s not supposed to be. Look who wrote it.” He leans over the back of the couch, his cologne surrounding you while he uses two fingers to zoom in on the article author’s name. _Yuna M._ “Is that enough of an answer for you?”

You should probably thank Yuna for helping you sell this story, but at the same time you would’ve appreciated a little less of the “glorified anger management therapist in a girlfriend suit” and more of the “holding hands and longing stares.”

It’s all just part of the job, you suppose.

Still, it’s hard to miss the distress that wrinkles Tobio’s forehead as he sits beside you. He’s more relaxed now, but the distance between the two of you is still there — physically and emotionally. The times that you’ve been staying at his condo were more like days of having a roommate than having a sleepover. Moments like these just feel like another cafe date with random conversations that go nowhere.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You figure you might as well throw it out there.

“What part? Your best friend and I breaking up, dating you, or my 3-minute pancake technique?” He almost sounds like he’s trying to joke with you, but you can hear the bitterness alongside the sarcasm. Whether it’s appropriate or not, you let the smallest laugh huff out.

“Well, I know you’re quick to move on in favor of volleyball-”

He tilts his head on the back of the couch, looking at you through the corner of his eyes. “Did Yuna tell you that?”

 _Yes._ “No…”

“No offense, Hannah, but Yuna doesn’t always tell the truth. Especially with celebrity news.” His tone is even, which you appreciate since he’s eyeing you so intensely. “I don’t really have anything to talk about… She and I are old news.”

You hate to agree, but you know Yuna can spice up the truth sometimes. But that’s what she got paid to do. And according to her, it was _his_ fault they broke up. Maybe he won’t talk about it because he feels the same.

“What about your other exes?” He narrows his eyes at your question, so you try to save yourself by adding, “Just so I can get a better grasp of what kind of relationship _you_ want.”

Turning his body to face you with his legs criss-crossed, Tobio rubs his chin in thought. Your words seem to matter _some_ , at least. He doesn’t give you a short answer or change the topic, he actually sits there in all his glory giving you his time of day. You almost wonder at what point in this “relationship” did you start becoming thankful for human decency, but there’s no way you’ll forget how peeved you were with his beginning attitude toward you.

“I wouldn’t really call them exes since it wasn’t that serious…”

_You really are a player, huh?_

“…But I think they all tried too hard.”

Whatever that’s supposed to mean… you aren’t 100% sure… “To be your girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“Yikes.”

He hums in response. Technically you’re doing the same exact thing as them.

“This must be extremely uncomfortable then,” you joke, your finger pointing back and forth between the two of you. He only shrugs.

“Sorta. But you’re better than them.”

**_“Risqué Rendezvous with Rising Actress? Yeah, Right!”_ **

This time, you didn’t even see the headline — too busy watching how Tobio’s shirt clings to his body while he jumps, and snaps out of place as his hand smashes the perfect serve. You had lost count at some point after 35 “perfect” serves, but he kept going on and on until his breaths were hollow, shirt soaked through, and the sun already set.

You were already tossing him his water bottle before he had to ask, the action second nature by now. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” he breathes out harshly, taking a greedy gulp right after, then lifting the bottom of his shirt to wipe his forehead. “How was your movie?”

“Could’ve been better. I think the gory bits were too cheesy to be believable, but I had a good time hanging out.” You don’t hesitate to poke fun at him right after, helping to distract yourself from something else. “I bet you would’ve been scared, though.”

“Would not,” he defends with furrowed brows. “I can handle a scary movie, trust me.”

Snickering, you shake your head. “I watched you _throw_ your shoe at a beetle the other da-”

“Was it a movie with bugs?” he cuts you off.

“No.”

“Then I can handle it.” He seems so determined to prove himself you can’t help but laugh. If it’s a challenge he wants then you don’t mind giving it to him. “I’ll shower and you pull up the scariest movie you can think of.”

You’re just about to give another remark when he pulls his shirt up over his head, arms tense and rippling when he uses it to wipe through his sweaty hair. Thank god he doesn’t notice your silence (or care to point it out), because a challenge isn’t the only thing you’d give him. Even as he walks through the backdoor to go inside, you’re mesmerized by each wave of muscles making their brief appearances in his back.

It’s when you open your laptop that you see the article come up, pictures of the two of you walking together with your fingers intertwined after your lunch date, but the distance between you two is oddly wide. You’re positive it’s just the timing of the photo — no one _really_ holds hands that far apart — but you still frown at the article itself.

_“It’s like the time I first introduced my dog and cat to each other except they actually seemed to like each other after two months. Have they even kissed? Should I get my dog to demonstrate?”_

Ouch.

“Ready for the movie?” Tobio is suddenly standing beside you and his bed, drying his mint-shampooed hair with a towel and wearing more clothes than when you last saw him. He doesn’t wait for an answer before sitting beside you with his back against the headboard. “What’s that?”

“Just a poor review of our lunch today,” you shrug, already moving the cursor to open a new tab for Netflix.

“Poor?” He looks between you and the laptop but you’ve already changed tabs. “What was poor about it?”

“They’re just nitpicking on small things like… like the way we hold hands!”

You could poke the silence that follows because it’s so palpable, almost taunting you like Jell-O. Hopefully, that will make him back off just enough — you don’t exactly want to go into details of the other snide remarks that were typed up. And as luck would have it, he nods in understanding.

But then he takes your hand. Not like before with an iron grip and irritated twitches, but like thread through a needle and every part of you seems to be held together by the way his fingers softly weave between yours. You feel fixed in place, eyes locked on his which are locked on the screen even as his cheeks grow a little pinker.

“We should practice then, right?” It’s almost as if he’s trying to convince himself too. “That okay with you?”

“Yeah.” It’s just a little hand-holding — you don’t know _why_ it feels like he moves the tectonic plates himself, but it’s _just a little hand-holding_. Nothing more.

“We should probably practice other things too if we want to be convincing.”

Looks like you spoke too soon.

He looks at you now, determination in his gaze even if you can feel the nervousness bouncing off him and off the Jell-O air. You already know the answer before you pose the question, but you ask anyway, too curious for your own good and, well, you want to confirm your mild hopes.

“Like what?”

He shifts beside you, not coming closer but not shying away either. Instead, he’s angled toward you more, opening up to you just enough. “Like… other things.”

A laugh almost escapes your nose and you have to roll your lips in to hold yourself together. It’s short-lived, but it’s a nice reprieve from the obvious tension in the air.

“It’s not like we have to do it on camera or anything but, just in case…” he trails off, eying your hands now. “But it’ll speed things up if we do.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” you agree, voice void of confidence and making him glance at you in caution.

“It’s up to you. You’re the one who said we should do things right.”

He isn’t wrong, but you didn’t know that would mean sitting in his bed holding hands and practicing kisses. Maybe this situation would be funny in a movie or sweet in a book, but all you can focus on is the warmth of the room, the warmth of his hand, and the warmth in your cheeks — all of that and more is leaving you with desires you wouldn’t deem as funny or sweet.

“Like, I don’t _mind_ ,” you start, nervous all of a sudden, “but we should only do it if you want-”

His lips are on yours in an instant, your eyes widening, and then they’re gone.

“…to…”

You blink. Your lungs cage whatever air is in them. Your laptop dims. And still, as the moment burns away, you feel the soft warmth he left behind. Tobio watches you with a careful eye, still close enough for you to reach but too far for your liking.

“You should- we should probably practice again,” you suggest, hoping you sound more certain of what you want. Those days spent together must mean he understands you enough to take the lead for you, his other hand tilting your jaw at just the right angle for your mouths to slot together.

Again, the warmth floods you, but this one is longer. This one has a taste you’re becoming addicted to and a tenderness you didn’t know he possessed. You let him mold the two of you together, your tongues against one another and his almost coaxing you to give him more. _More what?_

His hand moves to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair and locking the two of you together. Somehow it feels right. He guides you further and further away from any thoughts of uncertainty and everything is going exactly how it should be, warmth melting into heat and heat burning through your stomach.

You’re almost disappointed when you part, almost. His lips never leave you, wreaking havoc to your senses as he kisses down your jaw and the column of your neck. Your own hands grip his hardened shoulders while he tilts your head back with the hold he has, lips never stopping their greedy indulgences in your skin.

A gasp of his name and the laptop is completely forgotten about and pushed aside so you can scoot down with him hovering over you. You feel lightheaded, but you don’t want him to stop whatever spell he’s cast on you.

“Is this okay?” He ends the question with another open-mouthed kiss to your pulse. He takes the liberty of holding your hand again, except now it’s above your head while the other holds him above you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “more than okay. But I don’t think we have to practice this far…”

Curse you and your stupid mouth for saying things you don’t want. Maybe it’s your conscious telling the two of you to slow down, but the last thing you want is to put any sort of damper on things.

He breathes in deeply against your neck, steadying himself before he pulls up a little just to peer down at you completely. Gone are the harsh edges of his gaze and the creases in his forehead, all of it replaced with restrained intimacy — something you didn’t imagine you’d ever see from him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you do something you didn’t want.”

You’re shaking your head while he sits up straight, hands completely drawn from you and one running through his hair. “No, it’s okay, I want it. Um, whatever _it_ was that we were getting at.”

Now the both of you are warm with pink lemonade cheeks and sugary tongues: sour only because you stopped just as it was getting sweet.

He clears his throat, runs his hand through his hair again, and leans back on his hands as you sit up beside him. The Jell-O has melted away, at least, but somehow you feel like you’re suspended in it.

“At least we got some practice, right?” you joke with a faint smile. A laugh leaves his nostrils.

“Yeah. I think that’s enough practice for the night. We should probably watch that movie.” Again, he’s looking down to avoid your eyes, but it’s not like you’re able to look at him either. All you can think about is the possibilities you cut short, and the more those thoughts develop, the harder it is to keep it PG. Looking at him would only make it worse.

In mere moments he has a random movie playing — it seems he’s forgotten about the horror film he wanted to see — and your laptop is propped up on some decorative pillows beside you rather than in your lap. If he senses your confusion he doesn’t say anything, only lays down on his side with his arm bent to prop up his head and pulls you down too. It takes a moment for you to realize what it is he wants, but you feel your heart race once you do. Even though he stopped earlier by your foolish comment, you’re glad he’s at least keeping some of the falling momentum. You roll onto your side and let him wrap his arm around you, your body pulled flush against his while the screen lights up your faces.

“It sucks because I know you aren’t even trying,” he sighs suddenly, but you only catch a few words between the blaring music.

“What?”

“Nothing, just watch.” And you swear you felt his lips against the back of your head, if only just for a second.

**_“Japan’s Best Setter Settling Down!”_ **

Subtle brushes of your arms against each other turned into deliberate reaches for each other. What was once you squeezing past Tobio in the hallway became causal bumps and affectionate taps, some lower than others followed up with a mischievous grin. And while those grins sometimes fused into laughs that fused into kisses, they were always cut short one way or another. Not that you minded, things are moving at a comfortable pace — you actually look forward to visiting his condo now.

“This week has been absolute shit,” you sigh, leaning against Tobio as he waits for the food in the microwave. “I had to do so many auditions just in _one_ day and didn’t really get a break until I got home.”

“Well, you act for a living — it can’t be that hard for you,” he comments, making you scowl.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You move aside so he can pull the food out and watch him set the leftovers on the table for the two of you. Somehow he managed two plates and two bowls in one trip — you don’t need to know how, you just need the food in your mouth. “Tomorrow’s my day off if you want to go out or something.”

He glances up from his food as you bite into yours. “What do you mean?”

“Like, we can go to a park and relax or get gelato,” you answer.

He hums in response. “Is that on the itinerary?”

“No, but it sounds nice, right?”

Another hum and he begins eating. You almost catch wind of something wrong between the two of you, but his feet bumping against yours until your legs tangle under the table is enough to convince you otherwise.

**_“Troubled Volleyball Player Kageyama Tobio Can’t Save the Ball or His Relationship.”_ **

“You look pissed,” you point out on another day, sighing as your boyfriend glances at the words and photo on your phone turned toward him. He barely even squinted at it from his bed, and the distance between the bed and the doorway you’re standing in isn’t short — he definitely doesn’t care as much as you need him to.

“I’m about to be,” he huffs, opting to scroll through his own phone now. “That’s just how I look.”

“Not it’s not,” you insist, “and everyone knows it too. I know you had a difficult game a couple of days ago but don’t you think it’s a bit much to mope when we’re out at the times paparazzi have been tipped off?”

He doesn’t look up from his phone. “I don’t get paid to be all smiles like you do.”

You can feel your eye twitch. “It’s not about that, it’s about-”

“ _‘Is Kageyama Tobio’s Girlfriend a Golddigger?’_ ” He practically leaps from the bed and walks over to you in long strides now, showing his phone off this time. “Sounds like you have your own problems to worry about.”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t think that’ll matter if we look a bit happier in public.” You cross your arms, phone tucked away while Tobio turns his own back to himself and locks it.

“Hannah, that’s how I look. If you have a problem then leave.”

It’s been a while since he’s spoken to you like that — cruel words and an even crueler tone. Up until this point, you were making good progress in public and in private. Sure, he doesn’t open up about certain things, but you were never going to pry into his past too much in the first place. This? You’ll pry him open like a stubborn pistachio if you have to. After all, it’s not his past you’re talking about, it’s his future with you (however long that may be).

“Are you this mad because of the picture or something else?”

He doesn’t answer right away, obviously holding his breath when you see his shoulders and chest go still. “Nothing, it’s non-”

“It’s my concern when you’re taking it out on me. You’ve been acting weird lately too sometimes.” You’d rather not give examples, hoping he’ll know what you’re talking about and come clean so you two can move past this. Things were going _so_ well!

“Weird? This whole thing is weird.” He turns away now, voice bitter and steps heavy until he sits on the bed with his back against the headboard and legs stretched out haphazardly.

“Since when? I thought things were fine.” You follow after him. Even though he’s clearly upset with you, at least he’s letting you sit beside him.

“Of course, you thought things were fine,” he chuckles venomously. “You’re getting fame and fortunes to date me. You get paid to pretend you care and eat with me — things are _more_ than fine for you, Hannah.”

You feel his words stinging into your skin, but he doesn’t stop his tirade.

“And on top of it all, Yuna is having a ball writing about me again. She ruined her own relationship for her job. You think she won’t ruin this one too?”

Now you feel uncomfortable beside him, wishing you could shrink or scoot away. He’s not even looking at you but you feel pinned to your spot. Still, you _know_ Yuna, and you don’t want him saying things like that. “Yuna wouldn’t do that. She knows this is my job and she’s just doing hers.”

His head snaps to you now, eyes wide and wild. “She _knows_?”

 _Oh yikes._ You knew you shouldn’t have told her — shouldn’t have told _anyone_ — but Yuna has always been someone to trust. She’s been your best friend this whole time for a reason, and she’s given you no reason to believe she would jeopardize you for the sake of her career. Whatever happened between her and Tobio isn’t your business, and it shouldn’t reflect how she treats you. It never has.

“Yes, I told her after we met and signed contracts,” you admit. It wasn’t like you made a fatal mistake, so why is your voice almost _meek_? “She’s not going to tell anyone.”

You shrink under his stare, and maybe if you go down far enough then the pillows will fall on top of you, the sheets will suck you up, and the monsters under the bed will take care of you. Things must’ve been going _too_ well and this is just your spirit guides telling you to start counting your blessings.

“How do you know?” he snaps, and you don’t have an answer he would like. A simple “ _She’s my best friend, I just know!”_ doesn’t sound like it would sit too well with him.

Desperate, you throw out anything you can think of. “I can tell her the contract ended and we’re actually dating now?”

Now he rolls his eyes, your heart sinking more. You feel stupid when you shouldn’t, but at the same time, you know what you did was wrong. As long as nothing bad happens then no one besides Tobio will know that she knows — knock on wood. At this point, you just want him to stop being so mad.

“I’ll talk to her,” you mumble. “I’ll take care of it so you don’t have to worry.”

“Yeah, you should do that.” And then under his breath, he adds, “Your paycheck’s on the line.”

**_“Do Kageyama Tobio’s Old Habits Die Hard?”_ **

“Does that title sound okay?”

“I guess? What’s the article about?”

“Just his technique.”

You hesitate with your fingers mentally crossed before continuing. “There’s nothing about me or my job in there, right?”

“Hm? What do you mean?” Yuna looks up from her laptop, glancing around to make sure no one heard her. “This one is just about him but if you want me to add stuff in I can.”

You shake your head, though, worry still gnaws at you. “No, I think it would be best to not bring me up anymore? I might get in trouble for telling you. Like, big trouble.”

She nods in understanding, eyebrows drawn together in complete seriousness. “Aye, aye, captain, I’ll do my best. Sometimes they don’t give me a choice, but I won’t report anything that you told me, just what I’ve seen through pictures and stuff. That okay?”

“It should be, yeah! Sorry for bringing it up all of a sudden. Tobio was nervous.” You can breathe now, taking a sip of your iced tea and letting your shoulders fall.

Yuna’s eyebrows raise with the corners of her mouth and a tilt of her head. “Really? I mean, does he seriously think I would tell when you’re my best friend?” When you nod, she almost laughs. “Jeez, his old habits just _never_ die. He’s so untrustworthy of everyone, like, I told him no one is out to get him like he thinks but he never believed me. I hope he isn’t making things too hard on you. I’ll write something really nasty about him if he is.”

There’s a faint part of you that wonders what could get worse than reading about a kissing tutorial from her old dog Maple, but a larger part of you is more worried about the fact that she’s already considering a revenge report.

**_“Inside the Life of a World-Renowned Player.”_ **

Tobio, much to your surprise, isn’t home. Like every week, you unlocked the door, slid off your shoes, and called out to him that you were “home,” but this time there’s no response. You figured his car was in the garage, but it’s clear that you’re here by yourself. _No issues there._

You aren’t exactly in the mood to hear what he has to say when you tell him Yuna won’t share your secret. But as it stands, he has to believe in _someone_ , and it’s better for you both if he doesn’t let his paranoia get the best of him… or maybe you’re just being too hopeful and foolish. _Gosh, which is it?_

The guest bed, as comfortable as it is, doesn’t soothe you as much as you hoped. You could scroll through your timeline and feed for hours with the blankets wrapped around one leg an a pillow on your chest but still, your worries stick to the back of your mind like gum. Not because you don’t trust Yuna, but because Tobio doesn’t. And if his temper makes him lash out and ruin this whole thing…

“I’m home!”

You sit up, smooth the back of your hair down, and hold your breath while you stand. Your feet just barely pad over the carpet and cross the threshold of the door when you walk smack into a familiar, warm chest.

“Ow… welcome back,” you mumble, holding your nose while looking up at him. You watch how fast his hardened expression melts into a puddle of liquid sugar, hands cupping your face and eyes taking in as much as possible until you feel like you only exist in his sights only.

The air is completely gone from the room, your body still and his face so close. Does he even realize what he’s doing?

“It looks fine.”

You guess not.

“But be careful, idiot,” he sighs, but it’s the least insulting tone possible, relief laced in the edges and hands resting on your shoulders. They don’t weigh you down, but you feel anchored here with him.

“Thanks,” you huff, glad that he’s moved his hands so that he can’t feel how warm your cheeks are getting. “We should probably talk about Yuna.”

He tenses up, you hold your breath, and then he says exactly what you were expecting. “I don’t think we should.”

You could kick a trashcan right now and end up feeling bad for it, but if you kicked him it would be with no remorse.

“I want to talk about us.”

_Oh. Haha. What?_

If he means “us” like the way you think, then you don’t want to talk about it. But he’s already waving his hand, wanting you to follow him to his room for whatever reason. It feels like you’re walking down toward disaster. It’s silly. You’re just walking to his bedroom — nothing scary about that. It’s almost as if he’s treating it as an office, and that thought is enough to nearly make you giggle despite the inappropriate timing. _Reel it in, Hannah._

He sighs with a hand ruffling his hair before he heavily sits on the edge of the bed. “My publicity agent wasn’t happy about us going off track, but they aren’t mad about it either,” is what he starts with while you lean against the wall. “I think it’s going well enough… right?”

“What do you define as ‘well enough?’”

He pauses in genuine thought, lips rolled in, and jaw tense. “We like each other, so that counts for something?”

You can feel your heart throbbing nervously. You both know that’s not the way this was supposed to work out — “well enough” would be everyone else liking him, not the two of you pining after one another, burning hot then cold, and running up the walls.

“I don’t like you that much,” you half-joke. It’s better to keep things on track as much as possible, even if you’re lying. He’s never been this open with you before, but there are times where you can’t be greedy. That’s your whole job, anyway, right?

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less when he looks up at you with dejected eyes.

**_“Star Player’s Lucky Save: Kageyama Tobio’s on the Rise!”_ **

You’re relieved to see such an uplifting headline from Yuna this week, but it doesn’t do much to stop the fidgeting leg beside you under the table. An expensive dinner date with his senpai and his senpai’s girlfriend started out so great until the article was brought up — apparently the pair love to gossip a bit too much for Tobio’s liking, and hence too much for your liking.

“Excuse me for a moment.” He doesn’t wait for anyone to respond before he hurries off down the hall to the bathroom. You can practically see the question marks above the couple’s heads, but you only shake your own.

“I’ll go check on him. I’m really sorry.”

As fast as you can, you follow him, barely catching sight of him entering the private washroom before the door shuts in your face. One knock and there’s no answer. Another and you hear him clear his throat.

“Hannah, if that’s you…”

“You alright?”

“I’m fine… Sorta.”

You’re frowning when the small click meets your ears, and you barely get to blink before you’re pulled into the room with him. “What are you doing? I can’t be in here.”

He locks the door before turning to you with embers in his unwavering ocean eyes. Far from mad or upset, he just looks… passionate. “I wanted to be the one to tell you about how my game went today.”

“Oh.” You blink away the confusion and replace it with a reassuring smile. “Well, you can still tell me the details? I’ll still be excited to hear all about it.”

A scowl almost makes its way on his lips, but you can see him holding it off. “There was more I wanted to do besides tell you.”

The smile turns into confusion again and you cock your head.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he groans, running a hand down his face. “I thought… I thought we could do something special even though it’s not part of the itinerary…”

He almost looks like it pains him to say it, so you take his hand and squeeze it in your own — a small notion to let him know it’s okay. “I think that’s fine as long as it doesn’t violate the contract, right?”

There was definitely a line _somewhere_ on those 16 pages that specified what deviations are okay, but you don’t get to ponder more before Tobio’s stealing a kiss, tender despite his anxious jitters and soft even as he pushes your back against the hard door. And even though you’re caught off guard, your body responds on instinct, molding against his and lips returning his affections in perfect time, like two souls becoming one even if just for a moment.

“So this is okay?” The words are barely audible, a whisper that you only hear because he’s kissing along your jaw now.

“Is this what you were planning?” You almost joke about him taking too much — wanting to talk about himself and then kiss you like this — but your voice is lost in a gasp as he nips sharply at your neck.

“Sorta.” His kisses grow eager and hungry while he keeps his hands on your hips to stop himself from going too far. “But I was hoping it would be at home.”

You can’t help but agree with him there. Despite how nicely furnished and clean the washroom is, you don’t trust it as much as the Mr. Clean sponsored guest bedroom. “We can wait,” you suggest, secretly hoping that a little time apart will allow you two to think straight.

“I can’t.”

Your body warms in response to him even with the internal conflict you’re feeling. You have just half the mind to push him back and scold the both of you for treading into dangerous territory when he pulls back on his own, clicking the lock once more. Questions are written all over your face as he opens the door, taking your hand and leading you out the bathroom, out the hall and…

“Sorry, we have to go. I’m not feeling too well,” he lies, putting more than enough cash on the table to cover your parts of the bill. He doesn’t even wait for his senpai to respond before he’s moving again, you following in tow and feeling the familiarity of the situation. Last time he pulled you along like this was out of sheer spite and an awkward mess of determination. This time… you aren’t sure what’s fueling him, but you’re still buzzing from his kisses even as he ushers you into the backseat of his car and gets in after you.

“Wait,” you scoot further back while he adjusts the front seats. “What brought this on all of a sudden?”

“It’s good practice, right?” His voice is a little strained while he fumbles with the seats, all his focus seeming to go into achieving whatever his goal is. “Unless you don’t want to practice anymore.”

You scoff. “Of course, I don’t. We don’t need to do this. It’s just gonna make things complicated and-”

He stops, pinning you down with his eyes alone. “Why would it make things complicated?”

 _Is he serious right now?_ “B-because…”

“It’d only be complicated if we have feelings for each other, but this would be no strings attached, right? Just part of the contract.” What was once determination almost sounds like it’s been dipped in desperation. You begin shaking your head as he continues, finally sitting up straight now that the front seats are pushed all the way forward. “So then admit it, Hannah. Are you still in this for the money or do you actually care about me?”

 _Fuck_ , you don’t want to say it. The temptation to be honest with him — with yourself — is too good to pass up, but then what? What are you supposed to do after the contract ends? You’re already on borrowed time playing with borrowed stories and borrowed plans. The only thing you really own are your feelings for him that you’ve been desperately trying to cage behind black and white ink lines for jail cell bars.

“You know that I care about you,” you try.

“Not good enough,” he retorts, holding your hand like he did during movie night despite how the passion and vulnerability dance around in his irises. “Will you still be here after 3 months is up? 7 months? I _know_ there’s more to you than this job, and that’s why I’ve had such a hard time figuring myself out but… I know that I’m happier with you around, and even if I don’t show it, you still treat me all the same. Or you’ll make me face my faults and beco-”

You put a hand over his mouth, staring at him in shock and amusement. “All of a sudden, you talk _way_ too much,” you start, “and you’re not giving me the chance to answer your question.”

“Mwud isshid?” You barely make out the muffled words, and somehow your stupid heart skips a beat with the passing thought of how cute he looks with a flustered expression all held together by a hand trying to shut him up.

“Did you not realize that 3 months ended last week and I’m still here?” You can feel him try to speak again but you hush him. “If I’m being honest with you, I haven’t cared about the money for a long time. It’s not like I can go on dates with it and hear really bad jokes from it or-” his glare makes you smile “-maybe fall in love with it. But with you I can, right?”

You can feel his face heating up right before you pull your hand away. Even though you’re retreating, he moves forward, pushing his lips against yours once more like a sprint from third to home base, electricity sliding into your senses right after. 

“You can,” he whispers honestly, kissing you once more, “I hope you will.”

And then another kiss follows, this one chasing after what you’ve been yearning for this whole time. Even with fiery passion beginning to melt away at you and your clothes, it’s warm — like the wind blows just enough to keep you from burning up under his gentle touches. Your dress is lost somewhere with his shirt and belt, your back meeting the seat and his kisses meeting your heart as he kisses down your chest. Each beat of your heart matches his intimate moves, your frantic pulse jumping from Q to R to S until every letter of the alphabet between I and U are knocked aside, his body flush against yours where it belongs.

Even with the heat of the moment building along his hairline, his fingers work you up slowly through the thin fabric of your panties, winding you tighter until you’re whining for him to do something _more_.

“You sure?” It’s half a laugh and half a breath against your thigh, and when you nod in response, his hand smack down on the flesh. Not too hard, just enough to test the waters and get a firm message across. “Say what you want.”

“If I ask you to fuck my brains out, is that too much?” The smile on your face is definitely meant to be entertaining, but you can’t seem to keep it together, when he moves your panties to the side and runs his fingers up and down your clit.

“Is that all?” He grins at you, complete satisfaction curling his lips when your hips twitch with his hand. Clearly it’s all the encouragement he needed, and he’s too comfortable with teasing you in every manner. “We can do more if you just ask.”

“Don’t be corny,” you whine, and his circles on the sensitive bud speed up as he kneels between your legs. You don’t get to speak again when your cheeks are squished in his free hand, softly at first, but your heart races all the same.

“What was that?” He sinks one finger into you, earning himself a moan. His hand tightens on your jaw. “That didn’t sound like words, baby girl.”

And just like that, the warmth gives way to flames with the pet name, completely consuming you with another moan and another finger curing inside you. All the months getting to know each other and you should’ve expected he would take control — you’d _hoped_ for it, but it’s the way he looks at you that makes it feel even better.

“C’mon,” he encourages, one hand holding tighter and the other pumping against your pelvis to push his fingers right into the spot that has you seeing stars. “You can do it, I know you can. Unless it’s just too dirty to admit.”

Your try to open your aching jaw a little wider to speak, but the pain only amounts to pleasure and your words only amount to a moan.

“Damn, you’re so gorgeous,” he mutters, moving your face side to side with a smile that’s nearly sadistic as you clench around his fingers. “If you keep looking at me like that then I might not be able to hold back. Is that what my baby girl wants?”

You can’t even nod but _god_ you hope he knows you want that. His fingers only curl over and over inside you faster, pumping in and out like he’s been planning this for so long and somehow memorized the responses of your body already. You’re climbing higher and higher up to cloud nine right as he pulls them out, pressing his hand against your rising hips and his lips against your pursed ones. Your own fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer (if it were possible) and moaning in appreciation when he lets go of your face to get his pants and boxers down all the way.

“You sure you want this? I don’t care who sees you limping with my cum dripping out of you after this. You secretly want that?” He fists himself with your wetness still glossing his fingers, looking down at you with pride. “It’s be hot to see the press photos after, right, baby girl?”

He runs the head of his cock up and down your entrance, cursing under his breath when the heat shoots through him. It’s hard for both of you to hold it together, bodies so close but not as close as they should be. Even if you wanted to take your time with him, all you want right now — all you can think about right now — is for him to hurry up and fuck you so you can get home and do it again.

His hand slaps across your thigh again while he smears precum over your clit. “I thought I told you to stop looking at me like that, princess.” His glare is icy but you still can’t look away. “You liked following the rules of the contract this whole time, but now you won’t follow mine?”

You shake your head but he tsks at you while reaching down for his discarded tie. “First you won’t speak up-” two hands loop the satin fabric under the back of your head “-next you won’t listen-” the wider part of the tie obstructs your view “-and then you make me want to fuck you like a dirty slut.” You feel the knot tied at the side of your head. “Is that what you are?”

“No,” you whimper, only hearing him hum in response. He already knew the answer. He knows you and he knows what you want — he only asked to see if _you_ knew, to see if you’d admit something so lewd or be obedient for him.

Your senses are buzzing to pick up on any sign that he’ll be a bit more forgiving and generously fuck you like you want. With the heightened sensitivity, you jolt when you feel hard heat slap against your clit one, two, three times, and then a more liquid heat rubbed against the little nub.

“Tobio, please fuck me,” you beg, giving up on hope and accepting that this is the only way you’ll get what you want: by completely giving in to him. “I’ll be good and do what you want after this. I promise I know better now.”

You try to reach out for him, to maybe pull him into you like you want, but his hand catches your wrists and holds them still against your stomach.

“Baby girl, I know you know better,” he growls out, kissing your collarbone as he presses the tip of his cock right into you, only spreading your open but not pushing in like you desperately crave. “When we get home, you can show me how much you know better, but right now, I’m gonna pound it into you.”

“Please, please, yes,” you gasp as his hips move forward just a little bit. You feel dizzy, your whole body alight and burning behind your eyelids as if you could map out the scene in front of you from little lights that ignite inside you.

“ _Gooood_ , just like that, baby,” he groans. “You should see yourself right now — taking me all the way in like this.” Another deep moan leaves him to harmonize with your own as he finally bottoms out, balls flush against your ass grinding against you. You don’t have to see it to imagine it, but you could cum just from the thought.

“I’m so pent up from these past few months,” he pulls his hips back and then snaps them against you. “Mind if I let it out on you?” He swallows up whatever response you were going to give with an open kiss, humping and grinding against you just to work you up. The hand holding your wrists grips tighter, pulling you against his motions like a doll despite kissing you with more adoration than you can comprehend right now.

The only thing that comes out of your mouth is moans once you two part, his pelvis snapping against yours and your whole body jolting with each thrust. His pace is too much even for him, but he doesn’t stop — not when you both can feel how perfectly he nestles against the spongy spots inside you every time. He’s frantic only so he can continue later, but it’s more than enough to bring you higher and higher.

“You gonna cum for me already, baby girl?” he taunts, grinding _deep_ inside of you before continuing his speed from before even harsher. Your moans sound too loud in your ears but you can’t hold it together, especially when his free hand reaches for your throat and squeezes the sides. “I can tell you are. You’re squeezing my cock just like this.”

You try to swallow your moans and speak up, so badly wanting to be good like you promised and speak up like he wants. But even if the moans stop, your mouth hangs open in silent cries, your head feeling too fuzzy from the hand around your neck and the pounding against you. You’re too close to cumming to even think about anything else besides how good it feels to be spread open and stretched out by him and for him.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he grits out, pounding faster against you and squeezing your neck _just_ enough to make your eyes roll back and your back arch, the little white dots from before flooding your whole body with ice and fire and everything in between. Your sensitivity is still so high, taking every thrust and push against your walls with more emphasis and dragging out your high even as he stills inside you, balls pumping and tensing until he’s empty and panting.

“Careful,” you hear him murmur, hands gently releasing you so you don’t take in too deep of a breath or move your wrists right away. You do all that you can do at that point: wrap your arms around him in your embrace. “Are you alright? Red, yellow, or green?”

Your brain is still buzzy and fuzzy, but you can make sense of his words at least. “Green. Very green,” you sigh, holding onto him even tighter. You completely forgot about the makeshift blindfold until you feel him slide it off your head, kisses falling on your eyelids, nose, cheeks, and-

“Are you sure I wasn’t too rough? We don’t have to do this again when we get home.”

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

Softer than ever, he kisses you like a person in love would, all his corners eroded away by you.

**Author's Note:**

> [read more fics, talk to me, and show support on my tumblr.](https://writeiolite.tumblr.com)
> 
> [ ! ] if you want to use this fic in a reading video (like ASMR or smth), please dm/inbox me on tumblr or comment here and get my permission first


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